


Sherlock's Who?

by freakypet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF John, Canon Divergence - A Study in Pink, I suck at tags and summeries, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sally gets a complaint, Sally gets put in her place, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Sherlock hasn't told anyone he's married, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakypet/pseuds/freakypet
Summary: John has been away for Sherlock's entire career and suddenly returns to London unexpectedly from Afghanistan. Injured and tired and in pain, all he wants is to surprise Sherlock and kiss his husband. His search to find and surprise his wayward partner takes him across London and meets him up with those in Sherlock's world he has only heard about until now.A quickly written story that was meant to be my version of "Everyone Meet Sherlock's Secret Husband - Ha Ha In Your face" - but I got this instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my lame attempt at a "Everyone Meet Sherlock's Secret Husband - Ha Ha In Your face" but I kinda failed miserably. 
> 
> Instead I got this little bit of quickly written Awesomeness! Or not, you decide!
> 
> And by quickly written, I wrote this in like 3 hours and posted it straight away 'cause I'm a bit of an attention whore with the memory of a brain damaged goldfish. If I didn't post it now, I would forget I ever wrote it. (You might wish I had forgotten to post it once you read it, if so, my humblest apologies!) This was simply to give me a break from the 8 WIPs I have going at the moment.
> 
> Check it out, let me know what you think! But be gentle. I bruise easily...
> 
> \- 
> 
> I have No beta and this is not Brit-Picked in anyway.
> 
> All the information contained here in regards to Police procedures is Google-Gained and then altered to fit my reality anyway, so never ever take anything you read here as anywhere near the truth!
> 
> Also, blah blah, nothing belongs to me but my hair and this story idea. Everything else belongs to those that actually own the rights.

John wasn't sure where Sherlock would be at this time of the day. Or hell, even this time of the week! He hadn’t been home to London on leave in nearly 14 months due to the nature of his assignment. Before that he had only been home for 6 days before he had been shipped out unexpectedly. 

He received a long, weepy hug from Mrs Hudson and the most perfect cup of tea when he rocked up at Baker Street with his duffle bag and cane. Their dearly beloved Landlady hadn’t seen Sherlock since the previous afternoon when he had thrown an epic tantrum about the police not coming to him about the suicides yet and had stormed from the flat in typical Sherlock fashion.

John felt an ache in his chest. Skype, calls and letters just did NOT come close to actually being with the love of your life and honestly, he was getting antsy and just wanted to hold Sherlock tight.

Mrs H finally wiped her eyes and sniffed daintily before patting him on the shoulder as he sat in his own chair.  
“Well, I’ll not keep you any longer dear. Go find your Sherlock! Ooohh I wish I could see his face when he sees you!” She twittered and giggled like a schoolgirl and John felt the grin grow on his face. She stopped with a sudden look on her face “You ARE home for good now, aren’t you dear? I don’t think He’s going to cope if you left again… not after he sees …” she waved her hand towards John’s leg and John’s leg twitched with phantom pain. 

Yeah he wasn’t looking forward to that explanation and the resulting fallout. But how he missed Sherlock and he was definitely home for good.

After he had stashed his bag away in their room, he texted Mycroft to see if he knew where his wayward love was, headed out to the local Tescos to restock the empty fridge and cupboards.

Leaving Tesco’s with heavily laden bags, he was relieved to see the familiar black car idling by the curb. As he stepped close, the door swung open and a redhead on a blackberry stepped out without even looking up.

“I like the new look! Red definitely suits!” John exclaimed as he clambered in and settled the bags at his feet. The only response was a quick glance his way and a raised eyebrow. John chuckled.  
“Do I need an update on the new look?”  
Without taking her eyes off her screen as she typed away, the redhead briefly waved her hand in a royal wave.  
“Anthea”  
“Ahh, pleased to meet you Anthea.’ He paused, ‘Actually, I preferred Francine.”  
The only response was a sigh and an eyeroll.

Ahh it was good to be home.

Dropped off at Baker street and with Anthea’s list of address’ where Sherlock might possibly be, it didn't take John long at all to put away the shopping and head out again.

He marveled at the changes at St Bart’s as he wandered down to the morgue. A bit different than in his day.

The coat covered mousey woman literally squeaked when John knocked on her office door.  
“Hello, I was looking for Sherlock Holmes? Any chance he might be around?”  
The woman stammered and clambered to her feet.  
“No, no sorry, you just missed him. He.. he popped back into grab his crop, but I think DI Lestrade might have him? Sherlock’s phone went off and he .. he left.” She waved at the doors. “He usually rushes about when he’s doing a case.” She smiled tentatively at John. “Can I pass on a message?”  
John smiled warmly at the young woman.  
“Are you Molly by any chance?” He stepped closer and held out his hand. “Hi I’m John Watson. Sherlock has told me a lot about you. Thank you for letting him in here.” It was John’s turn to wave his hand at the room beyond Molly’s door. The young woman blushed.  
“Oh oh.. No trouble.” She stammered shyly.  
John laughed.  
“Sherlock? No trouble? Are we talking about the same bloke? Tall, skinny, could cut paper with his cheekbones?” John chuckled. “Ah you’re too nice Miss Molly. But no, I’ve got a few other places to look, want to surprise him.” He leaned in and confided to the pathologist.  
Without waiting for a response, John spun and exited the morgue, briefly stopping at the door to thank Molly for her help and wishing her a good day.

A few other stops and still no tall, dark bloke swirling around in a dramatic coat.

John was getting tired and his leg was aching and he was seriously tempted to throw the lot in and just go home and wait for Sherlock at Baker Street.He had really wanted to see Sherlock in action without the lanky bugger knowing he was there for once.  
And he was honest enough to admit he wanted to see if he could get the drop on the Famous Sherlock Holmes.

Just as he was about to flag down a cab and give in, his phone chimed.

Unlocking it, he noticed that it had no number, hidden or otherwise and it was simply an address. Looking up, John caught a rooftop camera pointed at him, so he waved his thanks and watched as the camera bobbed once then turned away and continued its rotation.

All John could see as the cab pulled up was red flashing lights and a heap of people standing around apparently doing nothing. Yellow police tape fluttered in the cold English wind and John pulled his coat around him tighter as he got a firmer grip on his cane and stepped out of the black cab.

A tall gorgeous woman, with tight black curls and a strong posture that John swore many men in basic training would be envious off, was standing by the tape, speaking into a walkie and directing people. As John approached, he watched as people bustled in and out of a multistory abandoned building.  
“Oi, this isn’t a movie set, move on.”  
His attention was drawn to the obviously senior officer.  
“Sorry, I was told Sherlock Holmes might be here.” John offered friendly, reaching his hand out to offer a shake.  
But the closed off look and sneering lip caused him to withdraw the offer.  
“The Freak? He’s long gone. Who the hell are you?” She snarled.  
John threw his shoulders back at the rush of anger he felt and stood at attention.  
“Excuse me??” he asked quietly, leaning forward slightly as though to hear her better.  
“The Freak. Wot, you some sort of fan? You think he could ‘solve’ your problems? Listen mate, take it from me. That bloke is a sicko, and you’d be better off leaving him well alone.”  
She turned slightly to listen to the walkie and then turned back to John.  
“Look, I’m just passing on a bit of advice, right. The guy’s a psychopath and one day, we’re all going to be wishing we had done something about him earlier.” She glared at John, as though daring him to say anything.  
John Watson, formerly Captain of the Northumberland Fusiliers, pointedly scanned the officer from head to toe and then pulled out his ever present notepad and pen.  
“Name and Rank.” He calmly asked. Sally reared back, blinking in surprise.  
“Name And Rank.” John more forcefully asked again. Sally scowled.  
“I don’t have to give…”  
John interrupted with a frown.  
“Actually, you will find that you do. Do you often insult and commit slander on someone who assists the NSY? Not very professional. Now. Name. And. Rank.”  
Sally stood to her full height, her fury clear on her face.  
“Here’s your last warning mate, Move. On.”  
As John drew a breath, ready to put his Captaincy experience to Full use, they were interrupted by a voice John vaguely recognised from overhearing on some of Sherlock's calls.  
“Sally, what’s going on?”  
A silver haired man, stress obvious in the tightness around his eyes, stepped up to the other side of the fluttering tape, glancing quickly from Sally to John and back to his notepad.  
“Nothing Sir, merely a bystander refusing to move on.” She glared at John.  
‘Sir’ looked up and frowned slightly at John. “Go on mate, head on home, freezing out here tonight.” With that he turned to Sally, obviously thinking that was that.  
"Detective Inspector Lestrade was it?” John spoke conversationally, and the silver haired bloke turned back with a mildly confused smile.  
“Yeah, do I know you?”  
“No, but I’ve heard a lot about you. Doctor John Watson.” He thrust out his hand and Lestrade leaned over to shake it.  
“ DI Greg Lestrade. Watson, John Watson? Where do I know that name from? ” He pondered out loud, looking at the smaller man in front of him as though he would offer the information up immediately. 

Instead John returned to the previous conversation.

“Actually, I was requesting your officers details, apparently she was going to continue to refuse to give them…” He looked between the two, his pen poised suggestively over his note pad.  
Lestrade looked at his Second in command and at the look on her face, sighed and slumped slightly. He knew that particular look too well indeed. Only one person put That Look on Sally Donovan’s face.  
“For God's Sake Sally!” He muttered, the woman’s face pinching sourly and her arms crossed her chest defensively. Turning back to John, he ran his hand through his hair.  
“What’s this about then Sir?”  
John looked from Lestrade to Sally and back again.  
“Apparently Sally here, feels it entirely appropriate to slag off and slander a man who works with your team.”  
Lestrade didn’t even look back at Sally and John could see his teeth grinding. After a few moments, Lestrade sighed and straightened.  
“My apologies Dr Watson, I’ll speak to my officer in regards to this. Uumm Sergeant Donovan and Mr Holmes have a … history..”  
John interrupted.  
“I don’t care if they have an entire Present and future as well. Her conduit is unprofessional and worthy of more than ‘a speaking to’. So if you would please…” He held up the notepad and with a furious muttering, Lestrade passed on her infomation. At one point, he spun to his complaining officer and hissed furiously at her.  
“I have warned you about this shit Sally. Over and goddamn over again. Now go and help Anderson and I’ll speak to you at the station!”  
John watched as the raging Sally threw a hate filled glare at him but wisely kept her mouth shut as she stormed away.  
“Look mate, I’m really sorry about all this, but I do have to ask you to move on, yeah.” Lestrade looked wearily at John and John merely nodded.  
“Sorry Detective Inspector, I truly didn’t want to meet you like this. I had honestly heard really good things about you and wanted to thank you for all that you have done. I appreciate everything you have done, even if Sherlock doesn’t say so himself.”  
“Sherlock? You know Sherlock?” Lestrade nodded at the praise but appeared completely stumped at the part about Sherlock.  
“Yeah actually,’ John replied with a smile, ‘for quite a few years now. In fact, I was actually looking for him, but your officer said he had buggered off again.” John looked up and chuckled at the look on Lestrade's face.  
“Hang on, Sherlock said good things? About me?”  
John chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck.  
“Yeah I know, but according to him, and I’m paraphrasing here, not the stupidest man at the Met.”  
Lestrade blinked then chuckled himself as he shook his head.  
“Well, that’s definitely high praise coming from Himself then, isn’t it.”

A few moments later and John had said his excuses and was headed back to the flat.

Too exhausted to continue his search, once home John headed straight to the shower and then to bed. His leg was throbbing and his shoulder felt like it was burning up, the skin only just healed enough for travel. He really should have rested better before heading out to find Sherlock. 2 days travel on top of an entire day chasing his elusive mate around London meant that John had reached the last of his limited reserves.

Curling up in Sherlock’s bed, John breathed in deeply, the scent of Sherlock filling his entire being and John clutched Sherlock’s pillow to his face to maximise the effect.  
“God Sherlock. So much for a warm welcome home.” 

 

It was the sounds of harsh conversation and the smashing of a glass object that woke John with a start from this deep sleep. Shoulder and leg both making themselves very well known to the wounded soldier, causing him to curse long and hard under his breath as he forced his still exhausted body out of bed and into the robe on the back of the door. His stuff was still stored away somewhere. Out in the flat, he could hear what sounded like a crowd of people clatter around in the kitchen and lounge. Mrs Hudson could be heard warbling worriedly in the background and John felt concern that she was stressing so much.

Grasping his cane, he gripped the door handle and scowled as he noticed a shadow in the bathroom, obviously going through the bathroom cabinet.

Setting the pain firmly to the back of his mind, he pushed his shoulders back, took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway

Uniformed police and what John assumed were Plain Clothes police were performing what looked like a search of some kind. As he looked from his position in the hallway by the bathroom door, John could see a weasley faced man peering into the pantry and Sgt Donovan was sorting through paperwork on top of the microwave.  
“Since when did the freak have food in his cupboards?” He heard her ask offhandedly. His blood started to bubble and he breathed deeply.  
He could hear officers talking to each other and commenting on things that they found. His hand gripped his cane until the tendons stood out, white and hard.

A banging sound and then…

“What are you doing?”

And warmth flooded John’s chest and a smile burst across his face.  
Lestrade’s smirking voice filtered back to john, wiping the smile away as he was reminded of what was actually going on.  
“Well, I knew you’d find the case. I’m not stupid.”  
Sherlock snapped and John could just picture him whirling on the spot and glaring at the DI.  
“You can’t just break into my flat.”  
“And you can’t withhold evidence. And I didn’t break into your flat.” Was the rejoinder.  
A snarl was heard.  
“Well, what do you call this then?“  
John stepped into the kitchen, the officers attention firmly fixed on the scene in front of them. No one even glanced at John as he sidled his way next to the table, where he could see into the lounge of 221B.

Lestrade glanced around at the group of people and smirked at Sherlock.  
“It's a drugs bust.”  
Sherlock snarled and gripped his hair and pulled, spinning around on the spot in pure frustration.  
“I’m not your sniffer dog.” He threw at Lestrade angrily.  
Lestrade grinned and nodded towards the Kitchen.  
“No, Andersen's my sniffer dog.”  
Sherlock spun to stare at the kitchen.  
“What? An..?”  
The weasley faced man waved as he watched the drama between Sherlock and the DI. As he stepped forward, from the look on his face presumably to gloat, Sherlock locked eyes with the one person he was definitely NOT expecting.  
Lestrade's chatter, Anderson sneering remarks and a comment from Donovan about eyes faded away. All John could see or hear was Sherlock.

Over a year of only skype and photos didn’t do the gorgeous man any justice. John immediately saw that Sherlock was about 5 kgs too light again and waaaay too pale, his beloved cheekbones stark and prominent.  
Sherlock’s pulse was fluttering at the base of his neck, exposed by the top few buttons being undone and shirt pulled back. Sherlock’s hands, long and slender, the hands of a talented musician had halted in their dramatic flare upwards and were now hanging in midair as Sherlock simply stared at John.

John finally smiled and Sherlock’s name whispered over his lips.

That was all it took.

Suddenly John found himself wrapped in 6ft of warm vibrant Sherlock and he folded his own arms tightly around the detective. Sherlock’s face was buried in John’s longer than usual hair and John could feel the man drawing deep breaths into his lungs as he scented his missing mate.  
John felt every beat of Sherlock's racing heart, it was pressed so tightly against him. Sherlock squeezed harder and John responded by rubbing his hands up and down the tall man’s back, softly crooning Sherlock’s name as he pushed his own face against the slim muscular chest and gaining his own long sought after comfort.

Sherlock pulled back and looked at John directly, whispering John’s name over and over, as though still disbelieving that he was even there. His large hands skimmed over John’s elbows, up his arms and over his shoulders to bury into the hair at the back of his neck. John leaned slightly into the caress, his own hand skimming over Sherlock’s sides, stomach and chest.

John knew the second Sherlock’s miraculous mind caught up as the genius’s eyes narrowed he leaned back to scan John from head to toe. John chuckled sheepishly and offered a weak grin as fury grew on Sherlock’s face. One large hand gently settled on John’s left shoulder and John couldn’t hide the flinch. Sherlock’s lips pinched together, whitening as his obvious anger grew.  
Sherlock’s right hand brushing against the fist that held the cane and John’s heart cracked as he saw the fury in Sherlock’s face mix with fear and grief.  
“God John!” The anguish in Sherlock’s voice ripped John’s heart open that little bit more and John reached up to caress that beloved face.  
“Don’t, Don’t. I’m fine, I swear!” John murmured, his thumbs stroking along Sherlock’s cheekbones. “It's all fine love!” He whispered and Sherlock closed his eyes, misery clear as he leant his forehead against John’s.

Harsh voices finally broke through their bubble and shoved them firmly back to reality.  
“SHERLOCK! Who the HELL is this??!” Lestrade yelled at the tall brunette. Sherlock looked over his shoulder, his familiar condescending, so beloved sneer and a sharp barb ready to throw when he realised exactly WHY there were Met officers in his flat.

Terrified eyes flashed back to John and he felt Sherlock’s hands clench convulsively on his biceps.  
“JOHN, I haven’t, I swear on my life…”  
John shushed him, shaking his head.  
“Sherlock, Sherlock, I know.” Sherlock stared deep into John’s eyes and studied what he saw there. With a blink and a sigh, he straightened again and keeping John pressed closely to his side, he stood proudly and scanned the room before returning to stare down at John, his love clear on his face for all to see.

“This is Doctor John Watson, Formerly a Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, recently returned to England… and my husband.”

Silence.

Silence as John smiled up at his gorgeous husband and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

Then the silence was broken by a snort of disbelief. John and Sherlock turned to see Anderson scoffing.

“Husband? Please! Who would be slightly interested in that?” he waved dismissively at Sherlock and John felt the minute flinch run through Sherlock’s body. John smiled up at his husband warmly.  
“Oh you would be shocked at the amount of people I have had to literally fight off. I even believe Sgt Donovan tried to dip her toe in the Holmes pool at some stage?” He chuckled at the eyeroll that comment received, but Sherlock leaned just that little bit more into John’s embrace.

At the sound of breath being dragged through disbelieving lips, John had had quite enough. With a final squeeze and pat to the lanky body nearly draping itself over him, John stood tall and set his feet. His entire body went from embraced lover to stern army Officer. And it showed in the shuffling of the Officers around them. Nearly all gathered instinctively responded to an Ranking Officer before them.  
“Not one more word.”  
John ordered. He turned to Lestrade.  
“You have want you wanted. Now leave. This is an illegal search done by untrained officers who have taken little care to avoid unnecessary damage. As I have already filed my complaint about Sgt Donovan, this can and will look like police harassment.” John snapped, his fury at the situation finally resurfacing. Lestrade sighed and tried to comment, but John was having none of it. All of a sudden, his exhaustion reared up and all his frustration and pain and fury over the past 24hours flooded him and he was swamped.

All he wanted was to wrap his arms around his husband, go to bed and remain submerged in bliss for the next week, with no interruptions.

But no.

He had to be here, surrounded by people who insulted and abused his soul mate and his marriage and delay that oh-so-longed-for embrace.

It was not to be had.

With eyes spitting pure fire, he rounded on Lestrade. With merely a finger, he pointed to the door. When someone behind him in the kitchen started to splutter an insulted complaint, John spun and snarled a harsh “ENOUGH! OUT!!”

Within moments, 221B Baker Street was empty and only John, in all his righteous fury and Sherlock, stood there. John breathed deep and counted to 10 and finally, finally looked up at the man that towered over him.

“Complaint John?” An eyebrow quirked up and a hint of a smile crept over kissable lips and John nodded sharply once, still ramrod straight at attention, his fury still bubbling away.  
Sherlock stepped away from John and glanced down at the furious soldier, catching his eye as he did. John took one look at Sherlock’s face and felt his rage drain away at the look of arousal and love he witnessed there. 

“My god John…” was all Sherlock managed to get out before they were once again clutching each other tightly. This time, this time lips met lips and tongues caressed and John finally felt like he was home.

 

#*#*#*#*#*#

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was truly the week from hell!

An unknown sniper had taken out the Suicide Killer, who had just happened to have taken bloody Sherlock Holmes captive an hour beforehand and had been holding him at a College. Lestrade had been following Watson’s directions by phone and had arrived on the scene just as the cabbie had died. If he wasn’t almost 100% sure that Watson had been back at Baker street…

The complaint Watson had lodged had gone through faster than any other complaint Lestrade had ever witnessed, and he had been working with bloody Sherlock Holmes for about 5yrs now, so that was saying something. Seemed Doctor John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers had powerful friends in high places and it was only by the skin of BOTH Sally’s and his teeth that they were still working at the Met and not on permanent patrol at the local dog park! To make matters worse, Lestrade knew it was because Bloody Sherlock Holmes himself had intervened, which had made Sally spit like a furious feral cat trapped in a cage, hadn’t it! Sally had been ordered to attend a course on Sensitivity training, scheduled to meet with the Unit’s headshrinker and ordered to obey all rules and regs regarding contact with civilians in both word AND spirit. One more complaint and she would be getting her walking papers. She was currently on paid leave for a month while an investigation was conducted.  
Lestrade himself had been raked over the coals for allowing it to occur for so long. With a sigh, he recognised that he should have dealt with it long before it ever got this far. The entire force was now under close eyes from above.

And to top it all off, Sherlock was refusing ALL calls! Lestrade couldn't even tempt him with a case that was a definite 12!! Something to do with spending time with his Injured Hero Husband.

And wasn’t THAT a kicker to the balls? Sherlock, married?? And apparently been together since Sherlock had graduated high school! And not ONE word uttered! Not a single clue! And to a massive war hero too at that! Watson had a raft of medals and decorations and all that stuff. He was ‘Big Stuff’ apparently!

Lestrade rubbed both hands over his face and reluctantly chuckled.  
‘You know what?’, Greg thought to himself, ‘Good on ‘im! Bloody well Good On Him!’ and left for a well deserved pint.

 

.


End file.
